Chapter 11
Hilary Winthrop
My insides shake. I long to run as fast and far away as possible, but I don the mask of survival and hold Connor’s hand with the same steady pressure as before.
I haven’t been that terrified of a man since I ran away from my last foster family at eleven years old. Even when I was living on the streets in my teens, I never found myself trapped in a small room with no escape as a monster loomed over me.
Connor was a monster, but it wasn’t him. He had no control over himself. His blown pupils and erratic breathing came from demons I couldn’t see.
The terror on his face will haunt me forever. Despite all the horrible situations I’ve found myself in throughout my life, I’ve only ever seen that expression once before.
The boy’s name was Heath. I saved him from bullies when I was twelve. He was several years younger than I was.
I shake harder as repressed memories flood my brain. Entire years’ worth of horrors replay as clear as a movie in my brain.
After running away from countless foster homes to be with my sister in the hospital, my social worker said he’d had enough. He drove up to a dilapidated building, shoved me out of his car, told me good luck, and drove off.
All the adults insisted on calling it fancy names, like children’s home or rehabilitation center, but now I know it was the last surviving orphanage in New York City. It was the only place to legally dump the wretched souls society wanted to forget.
None of the other kids saw how Heath got there. He was just on the doorstep one day.
I tried not to care. He was too scrawny and weak. Even I couldn’t protect someone so hopeless, but when I came back that evening from being with my sister, he was cowering in the corner surrounded by the worst bullies at the orphanage.
The way he looked at me… I couldn’t walk away.
I can’t walk away from Connor now either. No matter how much it hurts me to stay, I can’t leave.
He accepts the discharge papers from the doctor. I push my impending meltdown back into the recesses of my mind and point my toes toward the front entrance.
The company driver stands beside Connor’s sleek black car. Parked off to the side so as not to hinder ambulances, he waves us over and offers me the keys.
Connor takes a deep breath of smoggy city air like a convict escaping prison. I thank the driver and open the back door for Mr. Pen.
He snatches the car keys from my hand, slams the back door, and opens the front passenger door with silent demand.
“Mr. Pen, I—”
“Ms. Winthrop, you coordinated the vehicle delivery. I’ll drive. Get in,” he says.
He always drives. Even though I have my license, I take public transportation everywhere. Learning how to drive in my late twenties was humbling. I’m still not comfortable behind the wheel.
Too tired to argue, I lower myself into the passenger seat and lift my feet onto the floorboard.
Connor leans over me and buckles my seatbelt.
A confusing wave of fear and excitement crashes through me, and I push him away out of instinct.
He moves back without resistance but holds my stare for a long moment before rising.
The stiffness in his body tells of his injuries, but he hasn’t taken any medicines to impede his faculties, so I don’t feel bad about letting him drive.
He’s probably safer than I am right now. With my insides quaking and exhaustion tugging at my limbs, I’m not at my best.
I turn my face out my window and zone out. Numbness rises up from my toes. I embrace it, needing the respite.
The car stops moving, but a few moments pass before I peel my eyes from the comfort of nothingness and take in my surroundings.
Connor Pen drove me to his townhouse.
I sigh and drop my head back onto the headrest.
“Only for tonight. I’ll take the guest bedroom on the second floor,” I announce.
Callused digits slip through mine.
“Only for tonight. We’ll discuss again tomorrow,” he agrees.
I slip back into my mode of numbness and follow him into the townhome. Despite my familiarity with the place, it’s strange to have him here at the same time, even when he walks me to the guest bedroom and goes his own way.
After a quick shower and donning the unisex pajamas stocked in the closet, I shuffle to the bed, but a knock sounds on the door. When I open it, the smell of delicious takeout fills my nostrils and my stomach growls.
We eat in silence. I’m too tired to overthink. He leads me back to the guest room. I stay cognizant long enough to lock the door before I drop onto the bed.
Between one breath and the next, I slip into the inky void of sleep.
Violence and death fill my nightmares, but I can’t force myself awake.
A lock clicks. The door swings open.
A masculine voice calls my name.
I shift and whimper. The room is too cold.
The bed dips. Blankets settle over me. Warmth presses against me.
I welcome my sister into my arms. The body is too big and hard, and the scent is wrong, too, but I pull her half on top of me, kiss her cheek, and snuggle into her. Relief flows through me as my nightmares slink away.
Leather and smoke tease my nostrils. Need pulses through me. I wriggle and press back into the hot, hard body wrapped around me.
Fingers pluck my nipple and stroke my clit.
My gasp rips the cloak of sleep away, and I blink in confusion as nothing but darkness greets my eyes.
“Don’t stop, Hilary,” Connor whispers against my nape.
Shivers run down my spine.
His long digits splay over my stomach while two smaller hands play with my breast and pussy.
My hands.
I’m masturbating in Connor Pen’s arms.
He opens his mouth and swirls a design on my nape with his tongue.
“You’re so close. More,” he growls.
I tip perilously close to the edge. Slippery arousal coats my hand and floods my panties.
He tilts his hips. His thick, hard cock presses into my ass.
There are too many layers between us.
“You, too,” I breathe.
He pauses mid-kiss before mumbling against my flesh.
“I wasn’t going to. This isn’t why I came in here.”
“Now, Connor. Please,” I groan.
He curses and slips his other hand into his pants. I roll my hips and moan as his knuckles run up and down my ass and lower back.
He flexes his fingertips into the softness of my belly.
I erupt. Convulsion after convulsion clenches my core until my frantic stroking is too much. I yank my hand out of my pants.
My boss’s low, throaty praise fills a well deep in my soul, and the need to give him the same pleasure splashes over the top.
I reach back and close my drenched fist over his mushroom tip.
He curses, thrusts, and joins me in bliss.
We lie with nothing but our ragged breathing between us for a few minutes.
I bask in the endorphins and soak in his presence.
Just as my shoulder complains from reaching behind me and his seed turns cool and sticky on the back of my hand, he takes my wrist and lifts it off his cock with gentle care.
Shame and disgust creep in as he disappears into the bathroom. Tears scratch like sandpaper behind my eyes. I clench my teeth and breathe through my nose, but the urge to cry grows stronger.
He returns with a warm washcloth and reverent hands. My chest aches. After wiping the worst of the gunk from my hand, he carries me to the dark bathroom, kisses my forehead, and shuts the door between us.
The numbness returns and clears away my urge to cry.
He may have crossed the line by sneaking into my bed, but the rest was my fault. I touched myself while he remained respectful.
After washing my hands, a quick wipe down, and changing into new pajamas, I open the bathroom door. Strong arms lift me off my feet and settle me under the sheets. He settles in beside me before pulling me close.
I should push him away, but I snuggle closer instead.
He’ll be my husband soon. Even though it’s a contract marriage with a heavy revenge plot and loads of money exchanged, I’ll be legally wed to this man for the next five years.
As I drift back to sleep, my brain replays the hospital visit, but an odd sense of déjà vu weaves within the scenes. The more I try to pull it into focus, the further it slips away.
I jerk awake as my phone buzzes and plays music from inside my purse on the nightstand. Disoriented and uncoordinated, I wriggle onto the mountain of muscle and fish out the vibrating rectangle.
Long fingers wrap around my waist. Awareness slams into me. I apologize and try to slip off my bedmate, certain I’m hurting him, but he rumbles a warning and tugs me back on top of him. Knowing he’ll ignore any mention of his injuries, I focus on what he holds dear.
“I need to get up. I’m two days behind at work,” I grumble.
He sighs and wraps his arms around my back.
As wonderful as it feels, I pull my defenses close and pinch his side. He hisses and releases me. I slip off the bed and stagger into the bathroom.
Less than fifteen minutes later, I emerge, showered, with my hair in a high, sleek ponytail, my makeup done, and wearing the extra set of clothes I keep stashed in the back of the closet in case of emergency.
I follow the smell of breakfast and stop in the kitchen entrance. The sight of my ruthless boss in such a domesticated setting both unnerves me and fills me with longing.
He quirks a brow, plates the food, and walks around the island to the table already set for two.
My mouth waters at the delicious aroma and at the picture he presents. Ready for the workday in everything except his suit coat, with his sleeves rolled and an apron tied over his clothes, he’s sin incarnate.
After plugging in my phone on the island, I follow his silent command and sit beside him. After a few wondrous bites of eggs and pancakes, I take a sip of coffee and nearly moan in delight.
Everything is perfect. Too perfect. Suspicion rises in me.
I know his preferences because it’s my job. In the eight years I’ve worked for him, he has never once shown interest in my likes and dislikes, yet last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast were catered to me.
The setting is too intimate to question him, so I set down my mug and lean back in my chair.
“Move in with me,” he says without preamble.
I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders despite the tension coiling through me as I prepare for battle.
“Not until—”
“Move your sisters in, too.”
His interruption startles me into silence. The offer is the last thing I expected, but one of the most important.
I signed the contract with Hannah at the forefront of my mind, but all through our discussions of revenge, I worried for Aisha and Momo’s safety. He just shoved those doubts off the board with a lazy hand.
Part of me resents him for his easy answer while the other sobs in relief.
“We can’t tell them about the contract,” I demand.
He props an elbow on the table and leans into my space.
“I agree. The less they know, the safer they are,” he murmurs.
His heavy-lidded stare aimed at my lips is all too distracting.
“You’re being too agreeable,” I mumble.
“I’ll never complain about being close to you. I crave you,” he purrs.
My fool heart skips a beat.
“That means we have to pretend to be an actual couple when they’re around,” I warn.
His smirk arrows straight to my core. I curse myself for falling into his trap.
My phone alarm chimes. I’ve never been so happy for a distraction in my entire adult life.
“I know you’re the boss, but I can’t afford to be late, especially after two days of absence. I need to go,” I say as I rise.
“This townhouse is the only place secure enough to talk,” he says.
I pause halfway to the sink with my plate.
He revealed much in the conference room yesterday, but he had all Monday to prepare, so he no doubt turned off all recording devices beforehand and took all precautions so our conversation remained strictly between us.
“You suspect someone at the office is a spy?” I ask.
“I suspect everyone except you, my warrior queen.”
I roll my eyes and continue to the sink.
“Everyone? What about my sisters? Will the townhouse not be safe once they move in?” I challenge.
I watch him lean back in his chair and cross his arms over his chest in the shiny backsplash before he responds.
“No, your sisters are not suspects. I won’t doubt them, nor will they be stuck in the house. They’re free to come and go as they please, but no visitors,” he says.
His answer calms the rage festering in my soul. I set my plate in with the dirty cooking utensils and turn to face him.
“I need a list of people privy to your plans. Right now.”
He quirks a brow and replies in his customary terse manner.
“You, me, Uncle Levi, and Uncle Ronan.”
I bite back my frustration.
“That’s a… short and incomplete list,” I deadpan.
“Short, yes, but not incomplete,” he says.
I cross my arms over my chest and scowl.
“You haven’t told me anything about your uncles. One you’ve never mentioned before and the other beat you to a pulp. How am I supposed to trust them?”
He stands, stalks to me, and presses his palms on the counter behind me, caging me in with his bulk.
“I’m the only one you need to trust, my warrior queen.”
“Don’t make me hurt you. Get out of my space,” I demand.
He studies my expression, grinds his teeth, and moves away.
The vice around my chest loosens while my sex throbs in disappointment. My phone blares the obnoxious sound I programmed for missed alarm alerts. I turn it off and slip it into my pocket.
“Fine, my sisters and I will move in, but not until we make our engagement public knowledge,” I relent.
As I turn toward the exit, he blocks me with his body. The apron still hugs his chest. Worry flits through me as I remember his bandages. I should have offered to change them this morning.
He tucks a finger under my chin and lifts my face to his. I forget how to breathe as terror and hunger rip through me. He caresses my jawline before cupping my hand in both of his.
“Noted. Cancel our lunch plans. I’ll see you at the office,” he says.
He walks away. I glance down and sigh.
His car keys sit on my palm.
He may be an asshole, but sometimes he’s a chivalrous asshole, which is a mindfuck all on its own.
I don’t know how to process the events of yesterday and this morning without a mental breakdown, so I cram it into a box for later as I grab my purse from the guest room and head to the car.
I signed a contract marriage with my boss yesterday, had a mutual masturbation session with my one-night stand this morning, and agreed to move in with the one person who can tear my heart to pieces without even trying.
And it’s all the same asshole.
Connor Pen.
I’m not sure life can get any crueler, but this is the path I chose. There’s no going back now.
I’m marrying Connor Pen, my boss and the man I’ve lusted after for eight years.